Rapture Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Aware of nothing but Barnaby’s harsh-featured face above hers, his startling words ringing in her ears, Emily gaped at him. Chaotic thoughts whirled through her brain, but she was finally able to catch one and demanded incredulously, “Are you mad? Good God! The countryside would be aflame with gossip.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or don’t you care for your reputation as well as mine?”

  Lamb stuck his head inside the room, preventing Barnaby’s reply. “Mathew is here to see you,” announced Lamb. “Shall I have Walker show him up?”

  Bad timing, Barnaby thought, but it changed nothing. No matter what argument the lady put forth, she and her aunt would be installed in Windmere. It was, he told himself virtuously, for her own good.

  Mathew was shown into the room and it was obvious that this was no formal visit; Mathew’s handsome features were grim above his elegantly tied cravat.

  Never one to stand on ceremony, Cornelia said, “You are obviously big with news. Do you wish us to leave you in private?”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” said Mathew. “You will soon hear it.” Looking at Barnaby he said quietly, “I received a letter this morning from a friend of mine staying in London. Word has arrived from France that Louis the Sixteenth was guillotined on Monday in Paris.”

  There was a concerted gasp from the ladies, but beyond a tightening around his mouth Barnaby betrayed no emotion. The death of the King of France was stunning news, no less so than the knowledge that he had been condemned to death by the revolutionaries who had taken over France, but Barnaby’s most immediate concern was the whereabouts and safety of Lucien, his bastard half brother. Lucien was known to be in France and, knowing Lucien, he’d be up to his ears in intrigue. Something sick curled in his belly. Damn you, Lucien! he thought angrily. If you get yourself killed . . .

  Cornelia leaned forward and asked anxiously, “The Queen? Marie Antoinette? She lives?”

  Mathew nodded curtly. “At least at the writing of my friend’s letter.”

  “What of the dauphine?” Barnaby asked in a hard voice. “Have they taken to killing children?”

  Mathew shook his head. “According to my friend, the rest of the royal family remains imprisoned at the Temple and all of them are still alive . . . for now.” He glanced meaningfully at Barnaby. “France is no place to be at this time. We shall be at war with her within weeks, if not days.”

  Barnaby flashed him a dark look. “Don’t you think I know that!” His face set in grim lines, he muttered, “I warned him, but no one can tell Lucifer what to do when he gets an idea in his head.”

  “Lucifer?” questioned Emily, big-eyed.

  “My half brother, and if ever there was a hell-born babe . . . and not to wrap it in clean linen, one born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Barnaby answered. “His mother was French—she died years ago, but when the current madness overtook France, Lucien—Luc—took it in his head to see if any of the family had survived the Revolution.” His lips twisted. “Since her family was a member of the minor nobility, I doubt that anyone is left alive, but if there is someone, Luc will find them—and get them out of the country . . . if he doesn’t lose his own head in the process.”

  Shaken by news of the king’s terrible fate, Cornelia rose to her feet. “We shall leave you, gentlemen. I’m sure there is much you wish to say in private.” She glanced at Barnaby who was already opening his mouth to argue. “After your cousin has left, we can continue our conversation.” Her voice full of meaning, she said, “I shall see to it that everything is in order for your departure to Windmere.”

  As the ladies left the room, Mathew asked Barnaby, “You’re coming back to Windmere? Do you think that is wise? I assure you that there is no need, I have things well in hand.” A note of resentment crept into his voice and he added, “I think you forget that I have known Windmere all my life and oversaw the day-to-day operation of the estate during the last several months of our great-uncle’s life. I am quite familiar with what is needed.”

  “I could hardly forget those facts,” Barnaby said, ringing for Lamb, “when you remind me of them so often.” His gaze narrowed, he murmured, “It’s time I returned to my home—I wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable in my absence.”

  Mathew flushed and his lips thinned. “Damn you! I am no carrion eater! I cannot wish you well, but I do not wish you evil.” He stared daggers at Barnaby. “I did not deserve that remark—if anyone else had uttered it, I’d have demanded they name their seconds.”

  Barnaby sighed and waved an apologetic hand. “You’re right. It was uncalled for and I am sorry for it.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid that you bring out the worst in me.”

  Mathew hesitated, then muttered bitterly, “And you in me.” His azure eyes met Barnaby’s watchful black ones. “I doubt we will ever be friends, but I hope that we can learn to deal with each other without animosity.”

  Lamb’s entrance precluded further comment. Mathew stiffly took his leave.

  “Ruffled his feathers, did you?” asked Lamb.

  “Yes, and unnecessarily—especially when I believe he was trying to do me a favor.” Briefly, Barnaby told him the news Mathew had relayed.

  Like Barnaby, Lamb’s first thought was of Lucien. “That damned Lucifer! If he escapes from France with his head intact it will be a miracle.”

  “I agree,” said Barnaby in a calmer tone, although his worry for Lucien did not escape Lamb. “Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to help him,” Barnaby admitted heavily. “We have no idea where he is . . . even if he is still alive, and I see no way we can even begin to mount a rescue.” He eyed Lamb. “Your thoughts?”

  His own face reflecting the same deep concern on Barnaby’s, he said bitterly, “I see nothing we can do with what we know at the moment, but wait and hope the lucky devil’s luck holds.” He forced a smile. “Knowing Lucifer, he’ll rise to the top of the dung heap—just as he always does.”

  Emily’s protestations hissed into Cornelia’s ear as they hurried through the house toward Emily’s bedroom made absolutely no impact. Reaching her bedroom, the door slammed shut behind them, Emily growled, “For the last time, I am not going to be hustled off to Windmere like a trussed-up chicken going to market.” Arms crossed over her chest, she said childishly, “And you can’t make me go.”

  Cornelia rounded angrily on her and, shaking a bony finger in Emily’s face, she said grimly, “Girl, if I have to hit you over the head or truss you up exactly like a hen for market, I damn well will! And if you think Walker and the rest of the servants won’t help me, you’re sillier than I thought.” She caught her breath and said more gently, “Emily, it is the only way you will be safe from Ainsworth and that wretched cousin of yours. You might think that his dislike of you will keep Ainsworth away, but that’s folly. He wants that fortune and you have to get it through your head that he will do anything to get it—even marry a woman he detests.”

  Shaken by Cornelia’s vehemence, Emily’s resistance crumbled. Unhappily, she admitted that her beloved great-aunt obviously believed that she was in danger, and if for no other reason than to ease Cornelia’s fears, she should accept Lord Joslyn’s offer of refuge. “Very well,” Emily said in a low voice. “We’ll go.”

  More relieved than she cared to admit, Cornelia said, “We have no time to pack very much. Just take what you will need for a few days. The rest of our things can follow later.”

  “If Jeffery doesn’t burn them in a rage,” Emily said drily. Despite having accepted that they would go to Windmere, she couldn’t help asking, “You really believe that Ainsworth would take me as a substitute for Anne?”

  Cornelia nodded. “He wants that fortune—at any cost. We are lucky that Anne is on her way to Parkham and that Ainsworth and Jeffery are unaware of it. It will be even better if we are gone before they return. For once we can be happy that Jeffery is in Newhaven squandering money he doesn’t have on a horse he doesn’t need.”

  Jeffery and Ainsworth were not in Newhaven
and there never was any horse. The trip to Newhaven had been a ruse to disguise their real destination—the farmhouse where Jeffery met his mistresses. The two men were spending that day seeing that all was in readiness for Anne’s abduction and ravishment. Unfortunately, the news that Anne had slipped from their grasp had already come to their ears. . . .

  Chapter 12

  It was simple happenstance that Jeffery and Ainsworth learned of Anne’s departure for Parkham House. As she did frequently, Rosie Perrin, Sally’s sister, visited at The Birches that Thursday afternoon. Seated at Mrs. Spalding’s scrubbed table in the kitchen, drinking tea and laughing and chatting with Sally and the others, Rosie heard in passing that Mrs. Anne Townsend had left that morning to stay for several weeks at Parkham House.

  Returning to the village in the late afternoon, she stopped at The Ram’s Head to see if she was needed for work that evening. She wasn’t, but she spied Kelsey sitting at a small table in the corner and joined him.

  The two of them talked desultorily for several minutes before Rosie mentioned her visit to The Birches and the news that Mrs. Anne Townsend had gone to stay with the squire’s mother at Parkham House. Kelsey immediately perked up and wondered how best to use the information Rosie had so innocently passed on to him.

  While not privy to the plans of the squire and Ainsworth, he was aware that the two men were up to no good and that whatever they were scheming to do involved Anne Townsend. Knowing of the fortune in the offing for Ainsworth once he had secured a respectable bride, and being of a like mind, Kelsey had long ago guessed the method Ainsworth would use to gain the hand of a woman who spurned his suit.

  A natural-born snoop, Kelsey had known for months about the farmhouse used for Jeffery’s assignations. Since his dismissal, with scant money, except the pittance Jeffery passed him now and then, he had broken into the place and had been sleeping in one of the bedrooms. This morning he’d been startled awake by the arrival of Jeffery and Ainsworth and had barely managed to escape undetected out of the bedroom window at the side of the house. Finding the horses concealed in the stables and noting the saddlebags bulging with wine and foodstuff and other items, Kelsey had chosen a hiding place nearby and hung around watching. Clearly they were preparing to use the house and he didn’t think that it would be Jeffery meeting a willing wench for a night of frolic. Ainsworth’s presence was particularly telling.

  After Rosie left the tavern, Kelsey sat back and considered what he knew and how best to use it. It was a good bet that the squire and Ainsworth had no idea that Anne Townsend had slipped away and he wondered how grateful they’d be to learn of her departure. Only one way to find out, he decided, rising to his feet.

  Neither Jeffery nor Ainsworth was happy when Kelsey strolled into the old kitchen at the farmhouse some time later. Kelsey observed that little had been done in the kitchen, but there were now several bottles of wine set out and food and plates, utensils and glasses scattered across the dusty table against the far wall. The bedroom, he thought with a tingle in his privates, was most likely to reveal the majority of their efforts, such as clean sheets on the well-worn mattress; Ainsworth was fussy that way.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Jeffery. “I told you to lay low and that I’d see that all was right with you as soon as I could.”

  Kelsey shot him a look of dislike. “And in the meantime, I’m reduced to damn near beggary. I’m tired of waiting! I want some money and I’ve discovered something that should fill these hands with gold.” Glancing at the items on the table, he smiled nastily and added, “Especially, if all these preparations are in anticipation of the arrival of the young Mrs. Townsend.”

  Jeffery stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “Why, only that I have news that you might like to hear . . . for a price.”

  His eyes cold and considering, Ainsworth asked, “And what makes you think that we are interested in the activities of Mrs. Townsend?”

  “Do you take me for a fool?” Kelsey snarled. “The lady doesn’t want to marry you, but you need a bride and there’s only one sure way of gaining her consent—if you have a stomach strong enough for it.”

  Ainsworth studied his fingernails. “Suppose you are right,” he drawled. “Why do you think what you know will help us?”

  Kelsey grinned, showing yellowed and missing teeth. “Because I can save you wasted effort.”

  “How?” asked Jeffery.

  “Pay me and you’ll find out.”

  Ainsworth studied Kelsey for a long minute and then, reaching into his vest pocket, he extracted a gold coin. He tossed it at Kelsey who caught it in one smooth movement. “If what you have to say is valuable,” Ainsworth said, “you can keep that, but if it is not . . .”

  “It’s worth it,” Kelsey said, the coin disappearing under his clothing. Only after he had hidden the gold away did it occur to Kelsey that Miss Emily, or that old witch, Mrs. Cornelia, might have been willing to pay much more to know about Jeffery and Ainsworth’s activities at the farmhouse. He brightened, realizing that there was nothing to stop him from leaving here and taking his chances with the ladies. . . .

  “I’m still waiting to learn if I get good value for my money,” said Ainsworth impatiently, walking toward the old stone fireplace. Stopping just a few paces from Kelsey, he asked, “What do you know?”

  Kelsey repeated what he’d learned from Rosie, enjoying the consternation and dismay that flooded Jeffery’s face. Ainsworth’s expression revealed nothing.

  “Good God!” burst out Jeffery despairingly. “What are we to do? If they left this morning, we have no chance of overtaking them.”

  “And I wouldn’t even try if they left only minutes ago,” snapped Ainsworth. “Not unless you want to put a bullet through your brother’s heart and attempt an abduction in broad daylight on a public road.”

  No longer interested in Ainsworth and Jeffery now that he had some money, and eager to reach The Birches, Kelsey said, “Think I’ll be on my way.”

  “Wait!” said Ainsworth. “You’ve earned this.” He tossed another coin in Kelsey’s direction, deliberately miscalculating the distance. The coin fell and danced across the worn stone floor. Kelsey bent to pick up the coin and Ainsworth moved with the speed of a viper, snatching up a hefty piece of firewood from the neat stack on the hearth and swinging it down viciously on the back of Kelsey’s head.

  Kelsey fell facedown without a sound. Ignoring Jeffery’s horrified gasp, Ainsworth kicked Kelsey over onto his back. Kelsey was still breathing and Ainsworth bent over and coolly and methodically hit him several more times with the heavy piece of wood. Only when Kelsey was dead, did Ainsworth straighten and toss the wood onto the hearth.

  Jeffery took one look at what had once been Kelsey’s face and his stomach lurched. He ran out of the kitchen, barely making it outside before he was violently ill. Only when he was certain his stomach was empty did he return inside. Wiping his mouth and keeping his eyes averted from Kelsey’s body, he asked in shaken tones, “Was that necessary?”

  “Yes,” replied Ainsworth, not even breathing hard after his exertions. “I wasn’t willing to run the risk that he wouldn’t run to your cousin and great-aunt with news of our activities.” Prodding the body with the toe of his boot, he said maliciously, “I’ll leave it to you to dispose of the body.”

  Jeffery opened his mouth to protest, but the look on Ainsworth’s face stopped him. Swallowing his gorge he approached Kelsey’s body and, gingerly taking hold of one arm, began to the pull the body from the room. Kelsey hadn’t been a big man, but he was deadweight and it was several minutes before Jeffery had the body out of the house and hidden beneath some brush behind the stables.

  Returning to the kitchen, still pale and shaken, he found Ainsworth sitting in one of the rickety wooden chairs, sipping a glass of wine from one of the bottles they’d brought with them.

  Helping himself to a glass, Jeffery tossed it off in one swallow. “What are we to do now? All is lost.”r />
  Ainsworth flashed him a contemptuous glance. “No, all is not lost.” His eyes went dark with fury. “She will not be the bride I wanted, but I’m afraid that your cousin, Emily, will just have to do.”

  Jeffery gaped at him. “You’re mad if you think you can force Emily to do anything.”

  “She will fear ruin,” Ainsworth said carelessly, “as much as the next woman.”

  Jeffery looked doubtful. “That may be, but she’s going to make you an intolerable wife.”

  Ainsworth looked at him and Jeffery was chilled at what he saw in Ainsworth’s eyes. “She only has to live,” Ainsworth said softly, “long enough for me to gain my fortune. After that . . .” He took a sip of his wine and smiled. “After that, I fear my bride will suffer a fatal accident.”

  Jeffery’s eyes dropped. He wasn’t, he told himself a bad man, and if it hadn’t been for some unfortunate losses at the gaming tables, the majority to Ainsworth, he wouldn’t have found himself in this situation. He had been perfectly willing to help Ainsworth marry Anne, but Kelsey’s death wasn’t something he would ever have condoned—if his opinion had been asked. Jeffery wasn’t fond of Emily, but he retained enough family loyalty to be unhappy contemplating her cold-blooded murder. Staring into his empty glass, he wished miserably he’d never agreed to Ainsworth’s terms and that he’d never invited the man to The Birches.

  Aware that Jeffery was having second thoughts, Ainsworth said, “We only have to change our plans slightly. I don’t want to waste any more time.” He looked thoughtful. “In fact, I think we should quietly return to your house and spy out the lay of the land. It’s possible that luck will be on our side and we can snatch your cousin without anyone ever realizing we have even been on the grounds.” He smiled. “She’ll just disappear . . . and later reappear as my bride.” Jeffery didn’t appear enthusiastic and, guessing that the murder of Kelsey had disturbed him, Ainsworth said with suspect sincerity, “I know what happened was a shock to you. . . . I’m sorry about Kelsey’s death, but the fewer people that know about our being here, the better. With Kelsey, er, gone, we two are the only ones who know we have been here, and I’d just as soon keep it that way.”